Thursday, November 20, 2014

California League of High Schools

November 20, 2014

Last night I was honored as a top ten finalist for the California League of High Schools Region 7. It was truly a beautiful and memorable evening. I had my husband and several family members, dear friends, and colleagues there to support me, which meant the world to me. I had to give a speech--one of my biggest fears--but I managed to get through it without stumbling too much, and I'm quite proud of myself for that. Since some of my friends and family members weren't able to come celebrate with me, I thought I'd share the text of my speech here. Just picture me, quavering voice and my signature 'hand gestures' and you'll get an idea of what it looked like:)

Good evening. I want to begin
tonight by thanking the California League of High Schools, my fabulous Learning
Director, Jennifer Bump, for nominating me, and my family, friends, and colleagues
who are here to support me this evening.
To be honest, I think most of them are here because they think it might
be amusing to see me attempt to speak in front of a group of grown-ups.

As my friends know, I am neither blessed with the voice nor the nerves
for public speaking. So when I started
thinking about what I might want to say—after the initial panic attack—it
occurred to me that it’s okay that I’m not a public speaker—I have found
the place where my voice is most at home, and that is in my classroom with my
kids. Years ago my beloved mentor, Mrs.
Belman, showed this shykid that she could speak in a way that
could impact lives—she could teach.
Mrs. Belman helped me find my voice, and now, it is my mission, my
passion, my privilege, to help students find theirs.

When I first started out in this profession, I taught a group of kids in
a remedial 11th grade English class. These kids came to me
disenfranchised, disenchanted, disillusioned.
Many were angry and frustrated. We slowly built trust, community, rapport;
and they began talking and sharing, and even doing a little writing, though
that part was a little slow-going at first. When the first progress reporting
period came around, most of them were surprised they were not passing.
Several asked me why before class one day.
I couldn’t believe they were surprised.
I said, “How did you think you were passing if you don’t turn in any
work?” The response of one of the
students was, “But you like us. You talk
to us. You listen to us! In our other
classes, no one listens to us, and they don’t like us. We thought you did.”

I had an epiphany then—these kids equated being heard—what they perceived
as being liked—with success. They
weren’t heard because they weren’t successful,
but more importantly, they weren’t
successful because they weren’t heard. It broke my heart! They didn’t believe their
voices had a place in an academic classroom because that’s the message they had been given. It became my goal to help them find a way to
use their voices and their personalities in the academic setting—and enable
them to see themselves as part of the conversation, rather than silent
spectators in an education that didn’t have a place for them. It’s the very least we should expect for our
kids, to know that their voices matter.

On the other hand, some of our
kids on the other end of the spectrum already have great confidence in their
voices. For those kids, my mission is to
help them refine and articulate the voices they are already well on the path to
developing. I hope to help them find their place to voice who they are as
students, as citizens, as employees, as community members. I hope to help them discover what they are
passionate about, and where they want to make their voices heard in the grand
and global conversation.

Often, finding one’s voice isn’t about finding one’s academic or vocational
passion; sometimes it’s about being able to express something even more
fundamental. One example is Tyler: a sweet, creative and artistic young man who
was just discovering his voice and testing, in a safe place, how to use his
voice to begin… tentatively… to speak who
he was and who hewas becoming when he said shyly to me,
“Here’s a drawing I made for my Valentine. Do you think he’ll like it?” There
was no emphasis on the pronoun “he”.
Just a brief moment of eye contact—did I hear him?-- I think he’d only come
out to a handful of his closest friends, but he felt safe hearing his voice
speak who hewas with me--practicing
sharing his true voice and allowing himself to be heard.

These kids-and hundreds like them who have made my
classroom their temporary home on the way to bigger and brighter things—are
just like all of us once were. While I’m
trying to remember to teach all my standards and differentiate instruction and build
strategies and maintain effective classroommanagement, my kids are really looking first and
foremost for one thing: Does my voice matter to you? Can you hear
me? I want the answer to always be yes. I want them to know that if they find a home
with me where they feel comfortable letting their voices be heard and valued,
there’s no telling where they might end up.
Artist? Engineer? Construction worker? Public Relations Manager? Teacher?
Who knows—maybe even one day speaking in front of a large group of adults.